Leaving
by celinenaville
Summary: Young Sam knows one thing is inevitable. It always happens sooner or later and he hates it. TeenChesters.


Sam threw the contents of his dresser into a cardboard box that had been reused so many times, it had become soft and lost the crispness of its edges with varying creases that weakened the structure and threatened to spill the corrugation sandwiched between like stuffing in an abandoned chew toy.

Sometimes he folded his clothes: tucked in the beat up baseball glove he had been toting around since he was about 10, nestled his small collection of books on the top and closed it carefully. Other times he folded things into an old canvas duffle bag.

And sometimes, like now, he grabbed his clothes and threw them into a box in a wrinkled pile of chaos through gritted teeth and teary eyes.

Dean's voice startled him and he paused, mid toss, an old paper back clutched in his hand. "Hey Benji, that box do something to piss you off?"

Sam blinked through his shaggy fringe of bangs and grimaced. "This is such bullshit."

"The book?" Dean asked casually, grabbing it out of Sam's hand and examining the title with a frown. "Of Mice and Men? Agree. Complete bullshit."

Sam snatched it back. "Stop playing dumb, Dean."

"Are you getting your panties in a bunch because we have to move again?"

Sam blinked back tears, felt his nose prickle.

His brother shook his head. Dean had sprouted up recently and his weight had not caught up to his height yet. Still, he had begun to show a beauty that girls responded to. Sam found his brother's new found popularity among women nauseating. Also his fucking incessant compliance with all of their father's whims was nauseating as well.

Sam folded the box flaps in on themselves.

"It isn't fair."

"Sam this is our life. Why are you shocked every damn time?"

"I'm not shocked, Dean. I just don't like it."

Indeed, Sam hated it. Where Dean saw novelty, Sam saw instability.

Every time Sam grew comfortable with his surroundings, they were off again. It gave him a feeling of dread deep in the pit of his stomach. A sense that he didn't know what lay ahead. He couldn't adjust his course to know what was coming. He couldn't prepare for anything if he didn't know which direction the danger was going to come from. And with every move that source of difficulty changed. He was tired of it.

Down inside him it twisted around his heart like a vine choking a tree. No time for the roots to grow deep and strong before they were cut off. He wanted to stay. He was tired of walking away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam threw his clothes into his rucksack with a practiced precision, his jaw tight and clenched- the way he always held it when he was feeling stubborn.

"Sam, where are you goin'?" Dean's voice echoed off the barren wall of the dilapidated ranch house they were squatting in.

"Doesn't matter," Sam replied belligerently.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Stop bein a little bitch."

Sam tipped his head. "_You_ stop being a bitch."

"Look, Dad said to stay and lay low here."

Sam pointed at him and swung the pack over one shoulder. "_You_ stay and lay low here."

He felt impatient. Stir crazy, waiting for whatever the fuck was going to kill them to make the first move. He he was uncomfortable.

Hemmed in- caught in some weird dysfunctional triangle of mental abuse between himself, his brother and his father. He knew it. He could stand back and _see _just how jacked up their dynamics were even as they were happening. Even as he was opening his mouth to argue, he could hear how wrong it was.

He didn't like the person he became around them. Defensive. Argumentative. Angry.

The only way to get relief was to escape it. Pack up and go somewhere. Crash at a friend's house. Sleep at the bus station. Shack up with a girl from school. He was always ready to leave. To pull up the tent pegs and go. It wasn't going to be much longer of a wait for him to hit his eighteenth birthday and actually be able to indulge the restlessness within and leave his situation.

He stood up and faced down Dean for a moment. His brother's brooding form was blocking the hallway.

Sam fixed him with an angry glare. "Tell Dad I'll be back later. Whenever.."

Dean didn't move. Sam walked over and shouldered by him. Dean's green eyes were narrowed in annoyance.

Fine let him be annoyed. Sam had all he needed to survive shoved in his rucksack. It didn't even take him any time to pack anymore. He'd paired his possessions down to only that which he truly needed.

There was one survival skill that Sam Winchester had honed over the years.

He was so good at walking away.


End file.
